


Points of Contact

by mouwrost



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Plotless Fluff, book throwing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6234862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouwrost/pseuds/mouwrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan was signing off on reports Scout Harding had recently delivered from the wastes and day dreaming of days on the plains, when Solas's hand shifted and begin lightly tracing circles over her cheek, and down towards her jaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Points of Contact

The rookery was a quiet place, with little dust clouds floating in the light. The colour at the lowest level was always a soft golden hue, owed entirely to the few windows at the top and the torches lining the walls of the library. Few dignitaries made their way into it, so it was one of the few places in Skyhold that offered Inquisitor Lavellan a reprieve from duties, if only for a short time. And besides that, she enjoyed the ambiance of the place. The light cawing of the ravens in the rafters, papers being shuffled, the light scratching of quill on parchment, each voice took a hushed tone. And the company was certainly enjoyable as well. 

Today she sat upon the sofa with Solas at her side, his right arm lightly draped over her shoulder as he read some ancient tome on magic, history, or perhaps magical history. Generally she would ask, but he was deeply enthralled within the knowledge between the pages, so she opted to stay silent today. It was a slow evening, the passage of time only marked by a slight shift in the positions of shadows and the occasional flip of pages. 

Lavellan was signing off on reports Scout Harding had recently delivered from the wastes and day dreaming of days on the plains, when Solas's hand shifted and begin lightly tracing circles over her cheek, and down towards her jaw. She paused, and glanced over to him, but he remained deeply engrossed in his reading. He barely seemed aware that he was doing it. It was a simple, casual endearment. The movement was natural, untainted from pain or the polite mask he so often hid behind. She leaned ever so slightly into the touch, hoping it would encourage the contact. To her delight, his touch began to also trace along the shell of her ear and down her neck a bit. A flush rose into her cheeks as she bit down against the smile that came unbidden. For a moment, with so honest and sweet a connection, everything else bled away. She folded her hands over her lap, reports forgotten, and closed her eyes. She listened more closely to the sound of his breathing as his fingers trailed against her face, and took solace in it. 

This, she thinks, this peaceful little moment is what is so worth fighting for. 

For the first time in months she felt truly content. She was not facing combat, or lugging through harsh terrain, or fighting back against the bile that rose in her throat whenever she must contend with the political intrigues that came with the game. She was simply a woman, sitting on a couch, while the man she loved absentmindedly drew circles along her cheek and brow. It was strange, she thought, how emotional the experience seemed to make her. The longing that rose in her chest and caused a ball to form in her throat, the hope that someday things would always remain so simple. She admonished herself for the thought, she was the Inquisitor, heralded as a saviour, placed upon a pedestal by chantry faithful. Her life could never spare to have more than sparing moments of sincerity, not really. She would take them into herself and hold on with every bit of might she had, to cherish these little moments. 

Solas's hand stalled halfway through a rotation, lingering in one spot. Opening her eyes to glance at him, she saw him staring at her in a pained admiration. Be it from whatever pain he kept buried, or from his own realization that such moments were likely to be fleeting, she would not guess. There was pain in his eyes, and her immediate desire was to chase it away. She leaned over a place a rather chaste kiss on his cheek, and reached over to squeeze his other hand with her own. As she pulled back however, he reached up and caught her face delicately between his hands. Solas kissed her deeply, as hungry for touch as ever when kissing her. She allowed herself to melt into it and forget her previous ruminations, preferring instead to marvel in the smell of him, and the fervent press of his lips against her own. 

It wasn't until Dorian tossed a book over the railing while clearing his throat that they pulled apart. There was still a lingering pain in Solas's eyes, but there was light dancing there too. His cheeks were lightly flushed, she did not try to tamp down her smile as he traced her cheeks once more.   
"Would you be opposed to a walk?" he asked quietly as Dorian and the librarian got into their bickering.  
"Never." she answered, placing another kiss to his lips before standing.

**Author's Note:**

> please note that no books were harmed in the writing of this fluff


End file.
